Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels
by ThomJarington
Summary: When the vaunted Baron Longshore visits his father's toyshop in Gilneas City, young Vincent Moryarti's life is changed forever - giving rise to a black market empire, and paving the way for a subtle, yet important part in Darius Crowley's rebellion against the King.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

"Vincent!" a dark, husky voice called out over top of the whizzing, whirling flurry of sound created by multitudes of mechanical toys. "Could you bring me that mithril dragonling from the window, please? I need to recalibrate the wings."

"Yes sir!" a tall, gangly-looking teenager replied from behind a dark stained, oaken counter. "The silver or the gold one?"

"The 'silver' one, Vincent!" the voice said, sounding exasperated. "That's why it I asked for the MITHRIL dragonling."

The boy heard mutters from the back and smiled, chuckling to himself as he made his way through the various displays toward the front of the store. Glass cases stood prominent, featuring the most priceless items, while other toys were set atop shelves, cabinets and crates. Some even hung from near invisible wires, whirling and buzzing around in circles overhead.

Every creature imaginable lurked or hid somewhere inside the Gilnean toy store. Frogs croaked from artificial ponds, while dragons belched sparking smoke from high overhead. There was even a full sized mechanical tiger that guarded the front door, emitting a low rumbling growl whenever anyone entered the store. Other creatures Vincent had never heard of before stood among the population, especially one called a Yeti. A supposed creature that lived in the snows of the Alterac Mountains.

It was crowded, clean and organized - a favorite shopping destination among the citizens of Gilneas City. Vincent Moryarti could not imagine working anywhere else. It was his father's shop and the name, "Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels" was known throughout the country for its quality, craftsmanship and unique mechanical items - items only he and his father knew how to make.

For a boy, it was like living in a dream - a toy-filled fairy tale of magical machines. He learned to build them, could play with them and even got to meet various Lords and Ladies who frequented the shop. In fact, he had even met King Genn himself at court, when his dad presented his Highness with an emerald-encrusted, golden mechanical toad for Prince Liam's birthday.

His life was a pleasure, and little of the outside world bothered him. Yet, for some reason he couldn't explain, he desired more. They lived a humble, yet good life. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and become the greatest toy maker in Gilneas; and not just here - he wanted to the best Azeroth had ever known. For that to happen, he knew he would have to become creative.

All in good time, he often said to himself. All in good time. First Gilneas, THEN Azeroth.

Vincent was just reaching into the window display when the front door opened, causing the tiger to growl and Vincent to jump. His eyes widened when they came to rest on a tall, striking figure standing in the entry.

Wearing a long, red coat lined with heavy golden buttons, the newcomer stood tall and stern in shining, black boots, and wide-brimmed, felt hat. The sweeping white feather curling from the hat's side made the man appear cavalier, while posing with one hand on his gem-encrusted rapier made him look heroic.

Seeing Vincent staring, the man grinned - lifting his thin, black moustache into a smile of its own. "You must be Vincent," he said. his thick accent speaking of distant shores. "Is your father in? I have some of the items he requested, and would so dearly like to speak with him." He motioned toward the back with his head.

"Would you retrieve him, please?"

"May I tell him who is calling, my Lord?" Vincent asked after bowing graciously and straightening with formality. He dealt with nobility on a regular occasion, and while this gentleman's style was vastly different than what he was used to seeing, it made no matter: gentile was gentile.

"You may tell him Baron Longshore, Captain of the Heedless is here to see him." The man strode into the shop, looking around while talking.

"He is expecting me."

"Right away, my Lord Baron," Vincent said with another bow, then dashed to the back where his father was working. The Baron was inspecting something called a Wyyvern when his father appeared from the back, walked forward and removing his shop apron.

"Ah!" his father exclaimed, not bowing, Vincent noticed, but extending a handshake in greeting. "Baron Longshore. So good to see you again. Your journey was a smooth one, I hope?" Barn Longshore smiled and shook his father's hand as if they were long, lost friends. "Indeed it was, Sebastian. Smooth AND profitable as you will soon see. Your mechanical marvels sell quite well in whatever port I find myself."

The Baron laughed, holding his hands on his sides. "In fact, I get ten times the price than what you get in this shop of yours. Sure you won't sail with me? Could make you a fortune, my friend. A 'fortune'!"

Vincent's father laughed along with the Baron, sincere and heartfelt. "No, John, I am not meant for the sea. I prefer it right here, safe in my shop." Baron Longshore nodded. "Fair enough, Sebastian, Fair enough." He pointed his finger at the toymaker.

"But don't say I never offered."

The Baron turned to Vincent, "What about Vincent, here?" He nodded at the youth, "How old are ya now, son, fifteen? sixteen? Sea'll do ya good. See the world, visit exotic ports..."

Vincents eyes brightened, his mouth fell open and he turned to his dad, "Real -"

"He stays here, John," his dad said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "He is not ready for that life." Vincent was about to protest, but his dad cut him off yet again. "I said not yet. When you turn 18 you may do what you like. Until then, you stay here. Got that?"

Vincent nodded in defeat but the Baron laughed. "The sea will wait for you, Vincent. I'll save you a spot on my crew, if you still wish it, when you turn eighteen." He turned back to Vincent's father.

"And now, my good friend," Baron Longshore said to James, "Where would you like your goods delivered? Out back or to your warehouse?" Sebastian Moryarti produced a thick, coin-filled leather pouch and handed it to Baron Longshore. "Around back will do just fine. Vincent will help your men deliver it, won't you lad?"

Vincent nodded.

"In the meantime, my good Captain," Sebastian continued, guiding the Baron by the arm toward the back. "We have some catching up to do! I have obtained some bottles of the most fascinating drink. It is called a 'Waterfin Depth Charge'. Care to join me for a taste?"

The Baron burst into laughter. "Now see?" he said, "that is why I so love doing business with you, my friend. Always ready with a drink." He stopped, and patted the toymaker on the back. "Let me settle up with young Vincent here, get him squared away with the delivery and I will meet you in the back. Fair enough?"

James nodded, and continued toward the back. "Don't be too long. I won't let it last!"

When Vincent's father was gone, Baron Longshore led him to the front door. "Now, lad," he said, looking around as if there were people listening then handing Vincent a small leather coin bag. "Take this down to the docks and look for my ship, the Heedless. It's the large galleon with red and black sails. The quartermaster on watch will be waiting, and will know what to do. My seal is inside."

He drew Vincent close enough to whisper. "If you are interested in making a little extra gold for yourself, tell the quartermaster that you 'wish to make a private delivery just for the Captain'. He will give you further instructions."

Longshore stood tall, placing both hands on his hips. "You interested, lad?"

"You know it!" Vincent exclaimed in a whisper, eyes wide with excitement. "Will this help earn me a spot on your crew?"

The Baron smiled, stroking his moustache. "It will go a long way toward that spot if you do it right. If this works out, there will be more opportunities, I can assure you." He suddenly swatted Vincent on the rear.  
"Off with you now, and don't forget what I said to tell the Quartermaster!"

Vincent scampered off as Baron Longshore watched, stroking his moustache in silent consideration. "John!" a voice slurred from the back of the store. "You better hurry. The drink's runnin low."

"On my way, Sebastian," Longshore said, his eyes glittering as Vincent ran toward the docks. "On my way."


	2. Chapter 2: First, Gilneas

Years later, an older and wiser Vincent stood upon the Gilnean docks, frowning in deep thought as he watched Baron Longshore's galleon, the Heedless, sail away into the hazy horizon. Standing beside him was a disheveled, unshaven man dressed in the ragged wear of an out-of-work dustman.

He, too, watched the ship depart, then turned toward Vincent.

"Ere you be wantin these sent, Mr. Moryarti, sir?" the man drawled through tobacco stained teeth. He motioned toward the three wooden crates at his feet. "Same as b'fore, ya be thinkin?"

Vincent nodded once, but did not turn. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a patient sigh – watching a pair of seagulls chasing one another overhead.

"Please deliver them to the same place as before, Mr. Adcock," Vincent said, a small smile creeping across his face. "It is the same location to which you always deliver, my good man."

"In fact, it is the very, same warehouse that you have delivered to for the past eight years."

Vincent turned, and stared deep into the ragged man's brown, dreary eyes. "Now," he said, "If you would be so kind as to be on your way, Mr. Adcock. My clients are waiting. They, as always, will have your recompense available upon delivery."

Vincent dipped his head in token farewell, then walked past the man without looking back.

"I be tankin ya, Mr. Moryarti," the dustman said as he walked by. "Fer all the work ya be given me. My family be tankin yer too." Vincent waved a hand in acknowledgement, and continued up the ramp, away from the docks.

Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels was a welcome sight to Vincent's eyes. These days, it was one of the few places he could relax and escape the day to day business of his other life. Business contacts knew not to disturb him while he was in his shop. Here, he could enjoy the memories of his youth, as well as the successes of adulthood - all within whirring and buzzing silence.

He patted the Tiger's head as it growled when he walked through the door, then stopped to rewind a golden dragon that normally flew around the room on a wire. It had fallen still. "There you go, my little friend," he said, sending it soaring through the air once more.

"Good as new."

He flipped the sign on the door to OPEN, and made his way to the back room to change into his clerk's attire for the rest of his day. One thing Moryarti had learned the hard way, was to separate his store persona from his other life's work. Doing so demanded he always appear different, so as to not draw suspicious eyes.

He had once thought of leaving Gilneas, sailing away to distant shores aboard the Heedless with the gallant Baron Longshore. But that was never meant to be. His dad had been murdered in the streets: beaten to death by a band of local thugs, (supposedly working for King Genn), thus leaving Vincent in charge of the toy shop.

The King had sent an arrangement of flowers for his dad's funeral, as he had been well considered at court. Yet that had done nothing to dampen Vincent's dislike for the King, who had now walled in his citizens like wild animals in a cage. All because he didn't want the outside world to influence his people.

Still, because of his on-going work with the Baron, he had made himself quite a fortune delivering goods for the pirate (the man's true identity had become quite evident within a few errands). By using the Baron's name, he also made a name for himself - creating a reputation for providing the finest goods to those willing to pay.

Once the wall went up, all travel to the outside world was banned. However, goods still managed to find their way into Gilneas via ship – providing him the perfect opportunity to make contacts in distant ports. These turned into networks that he could count on to supply things not found in Gilneas, thereby earning himself obscene profits.

With this in place, Vincent created a thriving business from the shadows of the kingdom, and now felt no need to extend beyond its borders.

He had Gilneas in his hand. There was no need for Azeroth.

Just as he stepped from the back room, the tiger growled, announcing a new visitor to the store. "Be right there!" he called out, walking toward the front through the maze of displays while still fastening his leather apron.

He stopped short. A tall, heavily cloaked and hooded figure stood just inside the shop - closing the door gently behind himself. The man then flipped the sign to read "CLOSED" and faced Vincent.

"You Moryarti?" a hoarse voice whispered.

Vincent narrowed his eyes and smiled, bringing his hands before him, fingertip to fingertip as if in prayer.

"I believe," he said quietly. "That you have me at a disadvantage, sir. You are in Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels, and since I am the only other person here, you would be correct in your assumption."

Vincent paused, cascading his fingertips together in a ripple. "I am Vincent Moryarti."

The hooded man stood in silence for a moment, then slowly drew his hood back.

"In that case, Mr. Moryarti," the stranger said. "I would like to discuss doing business with you." The man glanced around as if looking for something. "Is there a more private place we can talk?" Vincent snorted, continuing to drum his fingertips together.

"There is, my good man, but not until I have a name." Vincent opened his arms wide and grinned a not-to-friendly smile.

"I am a simple toy maker, my friend," he said. "If you wish to purchase one of my many marvels, or even order something special made for you, then there is no need for secrecy." He brought his hands together with a quiet clap.

"However," he continued. "If you wish to discuss anything other than toys, I will need a name." He smiled. "Do we understand one another, sir?"

The man crossed his arms, causing his thick, heavy bicep muscles to ripple and flex. "Mr. Moryarti," he began, "I represent a very import-"

"A name, my good man."

The stranger blinked, sighed and ran a hand through his wavy red hair.

"Very well," he huffed. "I am Tobias Mistmantle, but that is all I can tell you."

"Now, can we find a more private place? I assure you, Mr. Moryarti, it will be worth your while."

Vincent smiled a winning grin. "Of course, Mr. Mistmantle." He motioned toward the back.

"If you will follow me?"

Seated at a small, ornate wooden table in a secluded back room with no windows, Tobias waited as Vincent poured tea into a pair of white china cups and placed them on the table.

"Milk, Mr. Mistmantle?"

"Not for me, thanks. I like mine black." Vincent wrinkled his nose at the comment.

"That is rather barbaric, don't you think? Tea without milk? Who ever heard of such a thing." Tobias smiled and sipped in quiet, as Vincent seated himself opposite, swirling milk into his own cup.

"Ok, Mr. Mistmantle, what do you want from me?"

Tobias nodded, sat his cup down and leaned forward toward Vincent. "Mr. Moryarti, I represent a very..."

"I know who you represent, Mr. Mistmantle. I know all about your little rebellion; your association with Lord Crowley." Tobias sat back, mouth open.

"I asked you, my good man, what is it that you want from 'me'."

"How did you know?" Tobias stammered, clearly shocked at the news. "That information is tightly guarded. It is treason..." Tobias's face was growing pale.

"If word gets out, it is the gallows for us."

Vincent took another sip of tea, watching Tobias over the rim of his cup. Delight shone on Moryarti's face.

"Mr. Mistmantle," he said as he placed the cup back on the table. "It is my business to know everything that happens in this country, especially those things that happen in dark corners. Do not worry yourself, your rebellion is quite safe with me." Vincent frowned and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin.

"However," he continued as Tobias watched. "I am concerned that you chose to come to my shop. If you know anything about me, and I assume that you do since you are here, then you know I do 'not' conduct my affairs within these walls."

Vincent held up a hand to stop Tobias's retort. "However," he said. "You are here, and I do respect Lord Crowley for his efforts in overturning our forced imprisonment." Vincent paused.

"I am to assume that Crowley sent you?" Tobias nodded in silence.

"I thought as much," Vincent said. "So, I ask you yet again. What do you want from me." He pointed his teacup at Tobias.

"To the point. Be quick and concise. I am supposed to be open during these hours, and my customers might grow worrisome."

Moryarti sat in silence, sipping tea as he listened to the requests. Most were simple items to gather: weapons, armor, mounts... all things needed to supply a small army of rebels. Numbers were flying through Vincent's head, and with the way they added up, he realized that he was about to turn a very healthy profit.

Then Tobias came to his last request.

"We will also need you to smuggle into the city several canon," Tobias said casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "We would prefer twenty or so, but if you can manage at least six, that would suffice."

Vincent's eyes opened wide, and he rested his elbow on the table, holding his chin in the crook of his hand. "You want twenty canon?" Tobias nodded, smiling.

"They will be most effective in securing our victory."

Moryarti scratched his face then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Yes," Vincent muttered, "I imagine they would." He chuckled and shook his head.

"You do understand, sir," Vincent said, opening his arms as he spoke. "That what you ask is near impossible?" He shook his head.

"How in Azeroth do you expect me to bring 'one' canon, let alone twenty, into a heavily guarded city? One does not simply walk through the streets towing a canon behind his cart."

Vincent waved his hand, looking away, shaking his head. "Cannot be done. I can get everything else you ask, but this is beyond reason."

Tobias smiled, reached beneath his cloak and placed a thick, leather pouch on the table and slid it to Vincent. It clicked as if filled with stones.

"Lord Crowley anticipated your reaction," Tobias said, watching Vincent stare at the pouch. "He also said that if it could be done, you were the man who could do it."

Vincent snatched the bag, opened it and raised his eyebrows at the sparkling gemstones that greeted him from inside.

"Mr. Mistmantle," Vincent whispered as he looked up at Tobias. "I thank Lord Crowley for his faith, but this request..." He rubbed his chin, blinked and nodded. "I will have to think on it."

Tobias nodded. "Lord Crowley will pay you five thousand gold for every canon you bring into the city," Tobias said. "Think about that. If you can supply us with these canon, not only will you be a VERY wealthy man, you will also be free to leave Gilneas."

Tobias pointed to the pouch that Vincent was staring at. "There is ten thousand gold worth of gemstones in that bag, Mister Moryarti," he said. "Enough to buy an entire estate." Vincent nodded slowly, still staring at the pouch, considering the possibilities.

"Freedom is at your fingertips, sir. If anyone can get this accomplished, it is you. We need canon if we are to take the city and free our people from the King's clutches."

Vincent nodded and breathed a deep, long sigh. "Very well, Mr. Mistmantle. We have an accord. It will take some time, though, quite possibly a very long time." Vincent looked into Tobias's eyes.

"When does Lord Crowley need delivery?"

"We are patient, Mr. Moryarti," Tobias said. "We understand the challenges that you face. The canon are key to our success. Like you said, one cannot simply walk a canon up the street behind a cart, now can one?"

Tobias slid a hand-written note to Moryarti. "Do you know this place?" Tobias asked. "Have you been there before?" Vincent looked at the directions and the small map.

"Yes," he said, "I know it well."

"We will meet you there in two weeks," Tobias said, taking the note back and holding it over a candle that was burning nearby. It quickly became ash. "To discuss your preparations." Tobias stood.

"Until then, Mr. Moryarti?" Vincent stood as well, and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "In two weeks."

Vincent walked Tobias out the door, having given the man a mechanical dog that Tobias had commented about on the way out. "I do hope your son enjoys the dog, Mr. Black," Vincent said to Tobias, who had covered his head once more with his hood.

"It is well made, and will be a loyal servant for years to come."

As Tobias walked away toward the center of town, Vincent's eyes were drawn to a horse-drawn wagon making its way up the street. In the back, was a large cast iron bell featuring a gaping crack crawling up one of its sides.

"Where are taking that, my good man?" Vincent called out to the driver.

"Ello, Mr Moryarti, sir," the driver said, tipping his hat, recognizing the toy maker. "I be takin this broken bell to the foundry fer repairs." He eased the reigns, pulling the draft horses to a halt in front of Vincent's shop.

"Fell from the cathedral, it did. Just the other day. Bout kilt the priest, Light bless his soul."

Vincent nodded and smiled, tipping his hat in return. "Do you mean the smithy near the docks?" Vincent said. "Does he work with items such as this?"

"Oh, indeed he do, Mr. Moryarti," the driver said. "Although, since the King built that wall o' his, ole Jamison's been gone hungry fer work, so to speak." The drover spat on the ground.

"Bad fer bidness all round, Mr. Moryarti. Bad all round, I tell ya!"

"Yes, indeed it has been," Vincent said. "Thank you, Mr. Ashwood. The Light be with you, my good man."

The driver snapped the reigns, clicking his tongue at the horses as he continued up the road past Vincent. Once by, he called out: "And wit you, Mr. Moryarti sir! And wit you!"

Vincent burst into laughter, shaking his head and watching the wagon round a bend. He turned, and walked into his shop, flipping the sign to OPEN, and patting the growling tiger on its head.

"Just pull it up the street in the back of a cart," he mumbled between giggles. "As easy as that."


	3. Chapter 3: Gathering the Goods

Vincent Moryarti watched the small gathering of dark-cloaked men sitting around a stack of crates within a dusty warehouse near the docks. Vincent always watched before entering, careful to note anything that might be unusual or out of place.

All seemed in order.

"Gentlemen," Vincent said as he stepped through the door and removed his hood, striding tall toward the group. The men looked to the doorway; none jumped.

"Have you gathered the information I needed?"

The men stood and dipped their heads in bows, not elegant like royalty, but those typical of their station: common workers, teamsters and dustmen; all men who wished to better their stations in life without begging at the boots of a lord. The looks they gave Vincent bespoke respect and pride.

One of the smaller men reached into a cracked leather bag set beside the crate where he had been seated. "I have it right here, Mr. Moryarti, sir," the man said, handing a sheaf of paper to Vincent when he walked up. The man knuckled his forehead. "It twer'nt easy ta git that, Mr. Moryarti sir. Not easy at-tal."

Vincent poured over the papers in quick silence, then looked up when finished, a smile shining upon his face.

"This is exactly what I needed, Mr. Devonshire," Vincent said, sending a radiant smile across the rogue's face. "You have done well, my good man. Very well indeed!" Vincent turned to another man, a dustman.

"Mr. Adcock?" he said, as Clarby Devonshire backed away and the dustman approached - eyes down, as he too, knuckled his forehead. "Were you able to contact the Heedless?"

"I was, Mr. Moryarti, sir." the man said, eyes still down cast. "I just be get'in word from em today, Mr. Moryarti. Would you be wantin to hear it?"

Vincent sighed, smiling and nodding patiently, "I would indeed, Mr. Adcock."

"Oh, that be good, Mr. Moryatri," the man said, holding his hat in his hands. "The Baron be wantin to tell ya that he can only be gettin ya ten of the wee canon." Adcock paused to shuffle his feet and inspect the floor.

"Is there more, Mr. Adcock?" Vincent said in a monotone. "I am sure the Baron named a price for his _wee_ canon?"

"Aye, that there be," Adcock said, looked up - fear snaking across his face. "I be tellin him that you said no more than one fifty, I did but he no be likin whatcha be wantin." The nervous man wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"He be sayin' two fifty a piece or no a thing."

"They be his words, no mine, Mr. Moryarti!" Adcock exclaimed, wringing his hat into a tube. "I be telling him word fer word whatcha be saying, but he no be listnin!" Vincent nodded and rubbed his chin, looking away in thought.

"Two fifty, is it? Two fifty..." Vincent looked at Mr. Adcock with a sly grin. "The Baron makes a hard bargain, Mr. Adcock, but he 'does' have what we need and therefore, has us over a barrel."

"Very well." Vincent took one of the pieces of paper and scrawled a message on it, folded it and handed it to Mr. Adcock. "Please tell our dear Baron that we have an accord, and he is to deliver our lovely canon to this dock, on this date."

Adcock took the note, bobbing his head – relief flooding his face like water pouring over a dam. He backed toward a crate and unrumpled his hat, placing it atop his head. He sighed, wiping his brow as if exhausted from a hard day's labor.

The meeting continued with Vincent hearing reports from his contacts, gathering the papers they produced, asking questions of his men. When finished, he sent them out the door - each with a small pouch of gemstones for their efforts. They all left with smiles.

All accept one.

A dark cloaked and hooded figure remained seated on a barrel of nails in the corner, smoking a pipe - quiet throughout the entire affair. Now that the men had left, he stood, lifted his hood and walked toward Vincent.

"Impressive work, Vincent," the man said as he fiddled with his eye patch. "Your men are quite loyal to you, and seem to have their fingers nestled into every operation around this city." Vincent turned to face him and nodded.

"Many thanks, Lord Crowley," he said, motioning toward a table in a corner opposite where the meeting had occurred. "They are indeed loyal. I pay them well for their services, and in return I get the best information and the best goods."

"Please, Lord Crowley," Vincent said, has he pulled chairs from under the small wrought iron table. "Have a seat. Tea, perhaps? I have a pot brewed and ready in the office." Lord Crowley nodded.

"That would be terrific, Vincent. A spot of milk as well, if you please."

"Of course. Sugar?" Vincent called out from within the office.

"Not for me, thank you."

Vincent emerged from the office carrying a silver salver holding a large silver tea pot, two china cups, a silver bowl with sugar and a silver creamer. Placing it in the center of the table, Vincent proceeded to pour the tea and handed Lord Crowley his cup.

Lord Crowley watched with amusement, sipping quietly until Vincent was seated. "You surprise me, Mr. Moryarti," Crowley said after Vincent had sat and was sipping his own tea. "I did not expect such civility, even after Tobias's report. That is why I decided to see for myself."

Vincent smiled, "And now that you have seen 'for yourself', what have you learned, my dear Lord Crowley?"

"Well," Lord Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms, a sly smile creeping across his face. "You are much more than a toy maker, that is for sure. You have knowledge about the goings on in this land that none should have, and you make a smashingly good cup of tea."

Vincent laughed and matched Lord Crowley's actions, "It is all in the pouring, Lord Crowley and how you handle the ingredients."

"You see," he continued. "If you treat them with arrogance or impunity, then you get a very bad flavor. Yet, handle each item as if it were gold, then you get a beautiful bouquet and delightful enjoyment." Vincent's eyes narrowed, "Do you gather my meaning, my good Lord?"

Lord Crowley nodded, smiling, "I do indeed, Mr. Moryarti. I can see why you are considered the best at what you do. Attention to detail."

"Exactly. Light is in the details, or so my father used to say. It is the essence of my craft."

Lord Crowley and Vincent Moryarti finished their tea in silence, each staring at one another without speaking. Finally, Crowley sat his cup on the salver.

"That was delightful, Mr. Moryarti." Vincent nodded with a smile.

"Now," the Lord continued, "I believe you have some reports for me?" Vincent was prepared, and had already been reaching under the table and into his bag for several pieces of parchment.

"I do indeed, Lord Crowley." He took the top page and slid it across to Crowley. "The first is an outline of the basic armaments you requested. They include your cost, the delivery requirements and shipping times. As you know, moving supplies for an army is not easy and will take a delicate hand." Crowley nodded as he read the report, and Vincent continued with the explanation.

"I will be delivering these to you, one crate at a time and packed in various methods so as not to arouse suspicion," Vincent said. "One week, you may receive a shipment of armor packed in meat, the next week will be a shipment of swords within bolts of cloth."

Crowley looked up, "Meat, did you say?" Vincent nodded.

"Yes, and they will be shipped to various warehouses run by my operatives and slowly dispersed to your organization through legitimate vendors." Vincent slid another page across the table.

"This page notes the different outlets where your men will be able to obtain the shipments."

The page featured a small map indicating the locations of various warehouses and streets. On each warehouse there was one name. Vincent touched a finger to one of the names so Crowley could see.

"Here, for instance," he said. "You will ask for this person, give the pass phrase and you will receive your delivery. Each delivery will be associated with a different pass phrase which I will create." Crowley frowned.

"What do you mean?" he said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "We can't just ask for this person and get our delivery?" Vincent grinned, tilted his head to one side and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"And what is to stop anyone from asking for this person?" Vincent replied. "Some farmer could walk in, speak the name and receive your swords." Vincent chuckled.

"Where would you be then, my dear Lord Crowley?" Vincent shook his head.

"No, this is the best way to accomplish what you need." Crowley nodded, staring at the map as Vincent continued with his instruction.

"Every week, you will receive a pass phrase to the warehouse that will hold your shipment. Each week, the person whose name you will be asking for will receive the pass phrase. This way, only your organization will receive the shipment." Vincent opened his arms wide, palms up.

"Understand?"

Lord Crowley nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I see what you mean, now. It is quite brilliant." He quirked his head.

"You have someone in every warehouse within the city?" Vincent's eyes narrowed and a sly smile slipped across his face.

"I have people where they need to be," Vincent said, bringing his hands together, fingertip to fingertip – as if in prayer. He cascaded them in rhythm.

"You fulfill your end, I fulfill mine." Vincent slid a third page across the table.

"Here is the time-line for total delivery of supplies, as well as the total cost. I have already secured the source for these items and simply await the word to begin shipping." Vincent chuckled.

"And payment, of course. I require one third up front, one third at half delivery and the final third after you have received everything you ordered and are satisfied."

Crowley leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"After I am satisfied?" Crowley said. "I am impressed, Mr. Moryarti at your trust." He opened his arms and smiled.

"What if I failed to pay you the last third, or said I wasn't satisfied and refused to pay?" Vincent placed his chin in his hand as he rested his elbow on the table, a twinkling dangerous look flashing in his eyes.

"Now, my dear Lord Crowley," Vincent said. "Why would you want to go and do a thing like that? You will be satisfied, I can assure you. My reputation is on the line with this." His face took on that of sadness.

"I would so _hate_ that word of your organization got out to the wrong people. You might end up in the stockade or..." He paused for effect. "Or even worse."

"The fact is," Vincent continued, waving off the incoming comment before it could be spoken by Crowley. "You will be satisfied, your goods will be first rate and you can go about your business of freeing us from our prison."

"And once I am king and have control of Gilneas," Lord Crowley said, not smiling at all – anger flashing in his own eyes. "You will leave these shores and take your business elsewhere."

"As agreed."

"As agreed," Vincent said, nodding. "I want out of this country as much as you want that wall down, my dear Lord. This way, we 'both' get what we want. Do we have an accord?"

Crowley reached into a bag beside him and brought forth a heavy coin purse – sliding it across the table toward Vincent. It jingled and clinked as Vincent's hand stopped it's motion.

"We have an accord. You may begin your shipments."

"Most excellent, my Lord. Excellent indeed."

Lord Crowley let out a deep, drawn-out sigh. "Now," he said, "What about my canon?"

Moryarti had been waiting for this question, knowing it was the most important of all. He had spent weeks puzzling over ways to move canon into the heavily guarded city - how to get them off the ships, how to transport them to locations, how to deliver them to Lord Crowley.

Guards manned every gate, every entrance into the city. King Genn knew that the wall wasn't popular with everyone in Gilneas, especially those who had lost lands like Crowley. Therefore, keeping an eye out for insurgents meant moving canon through the city was nigh impossible.

Vincent had come up empty. No answers until five days before this meeting. Now, he knew.

Moryarti reached for the teapot. "Care for another spot of tea, Lord Crowley?" he asked, waiting to pour until the Lord had decided.

"No thank you," Lord Crowley huffed. "I would, however, care for information on my bloody canon!"

Smiling, Moryarti poured tea into his own cup, swirled in a small amount of milk, just enough to make it dark tan. He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his refilled cup.

"Well?!" Lord Crowley barked after waiting politely for Moryarti to pour his tea. "My canon, sir."

"All in good time, my dear Lord. All in good time." Moryarti took another sip, nodding with pleasure at the taste. Just as Lord Crowley's patience came to an abrupt end, Moryarti reached into a pouch, produced a document and slid it across to the red-faced Lord.

"Is that what you were looking for, Lord Crowley?" Moryarti said, chuckling and setting his cup on the salver. "Nothing beats a quality cup of tea in moments like this, would you not agree, my Lord?"

Crowley snorted a response as he read over the document while Vincent watched with quiet consideration. After several minutes, he sat the paper down and looked straight into Moryarti's eyes.

"You cannot be serious!" Crowley growled, thumping the paper. "This will never work." Vincent crossed his arms.

"My dear, Lord, Crowley," he said, shaking his head in a sad, patronizing manner. "It most assuredly _will_ work. In fact, there is already one of your ten canon in place as we speak." Crowley stared at Vincent, searching his eyes – first one, then the other.

"Oh yes, my Lord," Vincent said, grinning like a hungry cat would at a cornered mouse. "I brought one in two days ago, right up the royal road to my warehouse - in full view of the city."

Crowley's mouth fell open, and he appeared frozen in time – not moving a muscle. "What?" he whispered. Vincent nodded.

"Yes, Lord Crowley. Right under the King's nose!"


	4. Chapter 4: Mrs Ashwood's Tarts

"Please tell your wife that her apple tarts were the best I have ever eaten, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent said, leading the driver from the toy shop and handing him a wrapped parcel. "They were better than Jarington's Bakery, in fact."

"Well, now, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Ashwood said, taking the parcel from Vincent and smiling. "Flattery like that will be gettin ya everywhere. The missus will be honoured, Mr. Moryarti, sir. Honoured I tell ya."

"And make sure you inform your son to be cautious when winding the bear," Vincent said, holding the shop's door back so it closed with a soft, snap. "It is very delicate and only needs two turns of the crank to make it dance."

Ashwood bobbed his head, bowed and thanked Vincent for the gifts and compliments, saying how they were not necessary but very much appreciated. Outside, shadows played heavily across the busy Market Plaza, casting the town in rainy-sky hues of gray. People went about their business as if it were sunny, knowing that in Gilneas, most days were gray.

Two story buildings surrounded the cobblestone plaza, creating glass-eyed mountains around the people of Gilneas. Sounds bounced around, bringing calls for bread from across the way, mixing clopping horse hooves and creaking wagon wheels just passing by. Ravens squawked from steep roofs, and sheep bleated in pens. A melody of trade, the living of life behind the King's wall.

"You are too kind, Ashwood," Vincent replied then handed the drover a small, leather pouch once a pair of King's Guards rode past.

"For your services and tomorrow's delivery," Vincent said, watching the men ride out of the plaza. "I assume it will be on time, as usual? This will be the last column I need for the new shop." The teamster took the pouch and bounced it in his hand, listening to the clink of coins before pocketing it in a flash.

"On time, as always, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Ashwood said. "I n'er be lettin' ya down, yet, have I now?" The man's brow furrowed. "Though, there do be a thought niggling at the back 'o me mind. Tis' about the iron columns."

"Might I be askin ya a question?"

Vincent Moryarti brought his hands before him, fingertip to fingertip as if in prayer, and smiled – eyes narrowing with intense interest.

"Please do, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent whispered, cascading his fingertips together in a ripple. "By all means." Ashwood looked down, kicking at a small pile of dust.

"Well, I no be one ta question an employer," he said. "But just the other day, a King's Man stopped me and asked what I do be deliverin." He looked into Moryarti's eyes, a frightened look on his face.

"And...?" Moryarti whispered, unchanged in his appearance.

"I be telling em what you be saying they were: an iron column fer yer new store."

"Did you now?" Vincent whispered. "And what did the 'King's Man' say to that, Mr. Ashwood?"

"He let me pass, he did," Ashwood hastily replied. "Simple as that, with only a wee peek under the tarp. Still, it got me ta thinkin..."

"You are not paid to think, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent said, his voice cold, the words staccato. "I pay you to deliver the goods I purchase." Ashwood bobbed his head in agreement, yet dared not interrupt his boss.

"You are to drive them from the dock to the warehouse and that is all." Moryarti's eyes flashed. "Do you understand, sir?"

"Aye, that I do, Mr. Moryarti, sir, that I do." The man was fumbling, pale from near panic.

"Still," he said, continuing onward with the question. "I only be wondering what sort of store be needing iron columns? Ain't n'er heard of so a place made o' iron."

"That be all, Mr. Moryarti, sir. I Just be wondering!" Vincent stared at Ashwood for long moment, then chuckled - clasping his hands behind his back.

"Very well, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent said. "I will answer your question." Ashwood sighed in relief, causing Vincent to crack a wry smile.

"They will be used to support a machine that captures lightening and converts it into energy. By filling the columns with water, I can draw lightening from the sky on stormy nights, and capture it inside of a machine I am building."

Ashwood's eyes widened, mouth open and speechless. Vincent smiled.

"Ca… capture lightening?' Ashwood said. "Why would ya be wanting to do such a horrible thing like that, Mr. Moryarti?"

"Because, my good man," Vincent said. "By doing so, I can use the lightening to replace oil lamps and torches. I will be able to illuminate all of Gilneas with its majestic power." Moryarti gave Ashwood a hard, cold look straight into the eye.

"What do you think about that, Mr. Ashwood?"

"I, uh… I be thinking that be a, uh, grand idea, Mr. Moryarti, sir. Grand indeed." Ashwood backed away, bobbing his head in bows.

"I... I should be getting back to the missus, Mr. Moryarti. I'll get yer column ta ya straight away, sir. On the morrow, sir. On the morrow."

"And maybe a few more of those apple tarts as well, Mr. Ashwood?' Moryarti called out, lifting his hand as the man hurried off. "They are so delightful."

"That I will, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Ashwood called back, not bothering to turn and look. He was too busy leaving. "That I will!" With a glance at the various people moving around the plaza, he smiled, placed his hands behind his back and headed back into his shop.

Three hours and two customers later, Vincent was behind the counter pouring over his store's books when a tiger's roar announced the arrival of a customer. The store was empty now that the previous customer, a bookseller, had purchased his wife a mechanical toad and departed.

"Good morning!" Vincent called out, not bothering to look up. "Please make yourself at home. I will be with you in a matter of moments." The lack of response lifted Vincent's eyes toward the door.

"Mr. Devonshire," Vincent said, a hint of surprise lacing the tone. "What brings you in on this fine day?"

"Top o' the morning to ya, Mr. Moryarti," Clarby Devonshire replied, tipping his bowler hat to Vincent. "I be lookin for a loyal, wee dog fer me wee little girl, don't ya know."

"Aye," Vincent replied, moving from behind the counter and to the door. "I've got just the thing." He flipped the sign to closed and turned, motioning toward the rear of the store.

"If you will follow me, Mr. Devonshire? I think I have one in the back that will be perfect for your daughter."

"What is the problem, Mr. Devonshire?" Vincent said once they made their way into the back office.

"Well, Mr. Moryarti sir," Clarby said, standing just inside the door of the toy store's office. "It's that lad Thomas, don't ya know. He be out making a mockery o tha Nobles he do. An now, last night? He be babbling about who he be knowin, and what they be doing; if ya follow me, sir."

Moryarti frowned and sighed. A small buffet table sat against a wall near the desk, where a silver tea service sat atop on an oval, silver salver. "Tea, Mr. Devonshire?" he asked, scooping tea leaves into a spoon and dumping them into the tea pot. "The water just boiled."

"No fer me, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Clarby said. "But I thank ya all the same." Vincent nodded, then poured the tea through a strainer into a white china cup. Once filled to three quarters full, he poured milk from a smaller silver jug into the cup – swirling it to a dark tan consistency.

"So," Vincent said, turning toward his desk. "What have you heard from the Nobles in regard to young Mr. Jarington?" Vincent took his seat and sipped his tea - listening to Clarby's tale.

"They be wantin him dead, they do," Clarby said. "But if they be getting their hands on him, he'll go ta talking he will, and then tha troubles will start." Vincent nodded.

"Agreed," Vincent said, placing the cup atop its saucer. "I should have never taken the lad on. His father asked if I had work for him, seeing the boy did not take to baking. He wanted the young lad to learn some responsibility, and thought one such as myself could teach him a trade, toy making in fact"

Vincent looked up at Clarby. "Have you ever tasted the Jarington's wheaten loaf?"

Clarby nodded, eyes twinkling. "Aye. Best in Gilneas City, it is. Tha missus has me pick up a loaf every morn, she do." Moryarti nodded in return.

"Indeed it is. The best in all of the land, I would think."

Vincent took another sip, staring into space while Clarby stood quietly to the side.

"Is the Heedless still in port, Mr. Devonshire?" Vincent finally said, placing the empty cup onto the saucer. Clarby took it from the desk, and placed it atop the silver salver. "The Baron has not sailed?"

"Aye, the Heedless is still tied dockside." Clarby cocked his head. "Why ya be askin, Mr. Moryarti?"

Vincent smiled. "I think it is time young Thomas took a little trip, Mr. Devonshire." Clarby grinned, stained teeth shining on his face.

"Aye," Clarby said. "That be soundin good, Mr. Moryarti. When do ya want him gone, do ya be thinkin?"

"No time like the present, Mr. Devonshire," Vincent said, bringing his fingertips together just at the base of his mouth. His two pointer fingers taped his bottom lip as he stared at the desk. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the lad for me?" He raised his eyes to meet Clarby's.

"I have just the job for him."

Clarby's grin widened.


	5. Chapter 5: The Cats Eye Emerald

"Ah, so good to see you again, Thomas," Moryarti said from behind his desk, as Clarby brought the teenager into the office in back of Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels.

"How is your mother, these days? I have not seen her around the bakery."

Thomas Jarington grinned, running a hand through his stringy, reddish-blonde hair. A tallish kid sporting a bit of muscle around the arms and chest, he seemed more of a budding ruffian than a baker's son. The leather dockworker's attire, as well as the tribal tattoo around his wrist practically screamed it.

"Good to see you, too, Mr. Moryarti," Thomas said, grinning like he'd been handed a box filled with gold coins.

"Mom's doing well. Spends most of her day delivering goods to the _nobility_." Thom spat the word as if it were a piece of rotten apple infested with worms. He frowned with disgust as he said it.

"So good to hear, Thomas," Vincent said with a quick look at Clarby, who'd taken up position behind the youth and in front of the office door. He motioned to one of two chairs placed across the desk from himself.

"Please, lad, have a seat." Thom blinked, his smile fading for a brief moment before returning as he sat.

"Would you care for some tea, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent asked, rising and walking toward the buffet table where he kept the silver tea service. He filled one of the china cups, swirled in a spot of milk and offered it to Thomas.

"I made it myself. Perhaps you could tell me what is wrong with it. Seems a bit... off, I might say."

"Of course, Mr. Moryarti," Thomas said, taking the cup and saucer while Vincent poured himself another – taking time to add just the right amount of milk.

"I would be delighted." The gangly youth grasped the teacup, sniffed it then tasted. He nodded, then swirled the liquid around in his mouth as if testing a fine wine for proper vintage. Clarby chuckled.

"Tastes fine to me, Mr. Moryarti. As good as any, I suppose."

Vincent nodded, standing to the side of Thomas and watching as the youth taste the tea.

"You do not care for the Nobility, Thomas?"

"Not one bit, sir," Thomas said almost immediately. He took another sip. "If I had my way, I'd see them all swinging from the gibbet for ravens to eat. They treat my mom as if she were a common..." Thom paused, realizing he was talking freely. He met Vincent's eyes.

"Pardon me, Mr. Moryarti. I forget myself."

"Quite alright, Thomas," Vincent replied, placing his teacup on the salver then returning to his own chair. He sat, placing an elbow on the table to support his chin – searching each of Thomas's bright, brown eyes.

"Do you like working for me, Thomas?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Moryarti," Thomas said. "I find it exciting, thrilling - like living an adventure. Sure as fel beats delivering bread, I can tell ya that!"

Vincent grinned as he listened, then narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, I think you're ready." Thomas blinked, mouth opening as his eyes widened.

"Ready? For what, Mr. Moryarti?"

Nodding, Vincent leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands together, fingertip to fingertip as if in prayer. "Yes, I do think you are." He cascaded his fingers in rhythm, then looked past Thomas toward Clarby.

"What do you think, Mr. Devonshire? Is young Thomas here ready?"

"Aye," Clarby said, nodding. "He do be ready, don't ya know."

"Excellent," Vincent said, then brought his hands together in one, loud clap.

"Very well then, Thomas. Or should I say, Mr. Jarington. It is time for you to work full time for my Company. What do you say to that?"

Thomas burst from his chair, leaping to his feet. "Yes!' He exclaimed, switching looks back and forth between the two men. "I mean, er, I am honored, Mr. Moryarti. I will not let you down, sir. Not at all." Vincent smiled, nodding, glancing at Clarby once more.

"Aye," Vincent said. "I am sure you will not. Now, Mr Jarington. I have an assignment for you. A true test, if you will, of your ability to follow orders and do as required, without question." Vincent motioned for the youth to sit.

"Please, Mr. Jarington. Have a seat. One must remain calm at all times when in my employ." Thomas sat, swallowing his excitement with a gulp, as Vincent looked past him to Clarby. "Would you not agree, Mr. Devonshire?"

"I do, Mr. Moryarti," Clarby said, crossing his arms. "Calm, clear and collected at all times." Vincent nodded.

"Have you ever heard of the Cat's Eye Emerald, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent said, leaning toward Thomas and almost whispering. "A fabled gemstone from the Barrens in Kalimdor?" Thomas shook his head.

"No, sir."

While Vincent himself had never crossed the seas to Kalimdor, his contact had. If the descriptions were accurate, it was aptly named: barren. Rocky grasslands, filled with enemy troops and creatures. High temperatures and dust. Not that Vincent cared about enemy or friend, heat or dust. Gold bought allegiance, and he spent his wisely. He had no need to travel there himself. He had others who enjoyed the trip and could go where he couldn't.

"I doubt you would. Few have, in fact." Vincent grinned. "It is a legendary emerald, about the size of a small melon," he said, using his hands to indicate just how big. "And valued…" Vincent chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

"Let us just say, that it is worth more gold than you will ever see in three lifetimes." Thomas nodded, completely fixated on Vincent's words.

"However," Vincent said. "I have not only heard of the emerald, but have found it. One of my men in Ratchet has it in his possession and is waiting for YOU," Vincent pointed at the youth. "To meet him and make the exchange. Are you up for it, Mr. Jarington?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Moryarti!" Thom said, standing once more, his face beaming. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, at first light. Mr. Clarby will help you make preparations and escort you to the docks. You will sail with Baron Longshore aboard the Heedless. Once in Ratchet, you will meet with a Goblin by the name of Dizzywig, he's the wharfmaster and has the emerald."

Vincent reached under his desk, producing a leather pouch, buckled across the front. "Inside you will find a letter from me, sealed with my stamp. Also inside is a key to an ironclad chest containing payment for the emerald."

"The chest will be on board the Heedless when you sail. Once docked in Ratchet, give the letter to the ship's quartermaster and he will have the chest brought dockside for the exchange."

"How much is in the chest, Mr. Moryarti?" Thom asked, eyes filled with wonder as he took the pouch from his employer. He returned to his chair.

"Five thousand gold coins, Mr. Jarington," Vincent said, smiling as Thomas's mouth dropped open and mouthed the amount in silent shock.

Vincent slid a coin pouch across the table to the youth. "That, Mr. Jarington, is payment for the delivery. One half now and the rest when you deliver the emerald safely into my hands."

"Payment?" Thom asked, frowning. "I haven't made the delivery yet, Mr. Moryart. Shouldn't you pay me then?"

"Very good, Mr. Jarington," Vincent said. "You passed the first test. You expected to do the work before payment and were willing to do so." Vincent nodded.

"I like that. However, I do business slightly different. I pay before I receive. It instills..." Vincent paused, looking up at the ceiling. "What is that word, Mr. Devonshire?"

"Loyalty, sir."

Vincent nodded. "Yes, loyalty. Thank you." He leaned across the desk.

"Are you loyal, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent said, lowering his voice and narrowing his eyes – their light boring deep into Thomas's soul.

"Can I trust you to bring me the emerald?"

"Can I depend upon you to maintain my confidence and the confidence of the Company you now work for?"

Vincent leaned closer and Thomas drew back; just a little, but noticeable.

"Well, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent whispered.

Thomas Jarington paused, the response hanging in his throat like a fishhook - leaving him looking at the coin purse he held in his hand, at the pouch lying on the table and feeling the intense, hot stare of Vincent Moryarti.

The hair on the back of his neck tingled as fear raced through his chest. He shuddered, as if someone walked across his grave – sending icy daggers darting through his veins.

Fear; brief.

He was bold.

The hook dislodged.

Thomas stood to his feet and saluted - snapping boot heels together and thumping fist to heart. "You can count on me, Mr. Moryarti," Thomas said. "I will bring that emerald back to you, I will prove my loyalty to you, sir!"

"Very good, Mr. Jarington," Vincent said, rising to his feet. "I will see you on the docks at five bells, tomorrow morning."

Vincent waved a hand. "You may go, now, Mr. Jarington. Welcome to the Company."

Clarby waited until Thomas had left the shop, having walked the excited youth to the door before returning to the office where his boss was sipping tea.

"What do ya want ta be done with him, Mr. Moryarti?" Clarby said, pulling the door closed behind him. "He'll be spilling his guts all over town by ten bell, don't ya know."

"Follow him, Mr. Devonshire," Vincent said.

"Stick with him and make sure he keeps his mouth shut." Vincent pursed his lips in thought.

"No, I have a better idea. Stay with him. Say that you are there to teach him the methods in which the Company operate. He will hang on your every word."

Vincent smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Be his friend, but please insure he arrives at five bell tomorrow morning on the docks."

"You be trustin he'll make the swap in Ratchet?"

Moryarti shook his head. "No, my good man, you will be making the swap. Care to make a small journey, Mr. Devonshire?"

Clarby grinned a toothy smile. "Aye, Mr. Moryarti. I can be doing that."

"Excellent," Vincent said.

"I want you to make yourself scarce on board the Heedless. In fact," Vincent said, reaching inside of his desk to find two pieces of parchment.

"Take this letter to the Baron," he said as he began penning a letter.

"It will explain to Longshore what is happening. He can see to it that you remain hidden until you dock." Vincent folded and sealed the letter, handing it to Clarby once the wax dried. He penned another, while Clarby watched and waited.

"I want you to take 'this' letter to Fidjit," Vincent said, handing Clarby the second sealed letter. "Our Goblin contact, on the docks below?" Clarby nodded.

"He will know what to do, and see that our young Mr. Jarington earns his reward." He slid a coin purse to Clarby.

"Do you understand your assignment, Mr. Devonshire?"

"Aye, Mr. Moryarti. Clearly."

"Very well, then," Vincent said.

"See it done. Farewell."


End file.
